


Lucifer Unleash'd

by vanillafluffy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-19
Updated: 2009-05-19
Packaged: 2018-03-18 22:33:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3586503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanillafluffy/pseuds/vanillafluffy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lucifer does Vegas, Bobby gives Zachariah a piece of his mind, Cas learns how to fix a transmission, Anna makes pot roast and the boys stumble on information that explains everything, because the prophet Chuck does not have writer's block. Written post Season 4, pre Season 5, non-canon accurate, alas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lucifer Unleash'd

****

  
Lucifer Unleash'd

or  
The First Gospel of the Apocalypse

"Lucifer" means "morning star", but the light in the chapel is no rosy dawn glow. It coalesces into a writhing mass of dark smoke, crackling with lightning. Clinging to each other, Sam and Dean stare at the apparition. Then the Demon Lord flashes across the room, striking Sam and tearing him away from his brother.

It holds him in its grip. He screams as fiery tongues of electricity dart over him, burning away his clothes.

As suddenly as it began, it releases him. Sam leans against the wall, panting, rubbing his tattoo, which has saved him from possession.

Lucifer tries to possess Dean, with the same results. Both Winchesters are stark naked and look like they've spent way too long in a tanning bed.

Their nemesis utters a noise that's somewhere between thunder and laughter with the bass cranked to 50 and hurls itself skyward, shattering the antique stained glass window over the altar and disappearing into the night.

"Well," says Sam, "That's not good."

"Duh, ya think?" Dean responds. "I'm sunburned in places that should never see the sun, much less get burned."

They collect their wallets and cell phones from the little heap of things that weren't seared away. Sam rolls Ruby's body over and starts going through her pockets until he finds the keys to the Mustang. For one thing, his clothes are in there.

Once he and Dean are dressed again, Sam shakes his head when his brother gestures him toward the Impala. "No, I'm tired of riding shotgun through life," he states flatly. "And we can cover more ground this way."

Dean's phone starts ringing---surprising him, after the treatment it's had---and he flips it open to hear Bobby telling him to get there as fast as he can. The call disconnects, and a moment later, Sam's phone rings. Bobby again, same message.

The boys take off for South Dakota, hot-rodding it all the way. It's close, but the Impala has had more TLC over the years and makes it to Singer Salvage just ahead of Sam's Mustang.

In Bobby's book-filled study, Castiel is waiting for them. "The Archangels have Chuck," he says tersely.

"He's safe with them, isn't he?" Dean asks.

"You *do* know Lucifer escaped, right?" Sam blurts anxiously.

The angel sighs. "It was foretold. The details didn't matter, it was always going to happen."

"Somebody wasn't paying attention," Bobby mutters. "But he was put down once, he can be put down again. We should act fast."

"Yeah, great idea," Dean snarks, "except we don't know where he is, and without Chuck, there's no way to find out."

Bobby pushes his cap back. "He's been cooped up in the dark for five thousand years and he's looking to party. Where do you think he is? He's in Vegas."

As the sound of squealing tires and revving engines fade into the distance, Castiel tilts his head and gazes at the old hunter. "Why didn't you tell them?"

"They've got enough on their minds right now," Bobby says, wandering into the kitchen to fiddle with the coffee pot on the stove. The angel follows him, watching as he pours a cup of dark brown liquid. "You want some?"

Cas shakes his head. "No." Then, remembering manners, "Thank you."

Bobby snorts and shakes his head. He adds sugar to the brew and ambles back to the study. "I've known those boys since they were knee-high to a hubcap. They were bright boys, but they both have a tendency to over-think things. Let them get this out of the way. They can do it. They're good men---"

"But---Sam?!" Castiel sputters.

"There's an old saying, son, that the road to Hell is paved with good intentions. Sam Winchester is a one-man road gang. And Dean---"

The angel goes motionless, his blue eyes fixed on a point to their right, and Bobby turns to look. A man with thinning silver hair stands in the hall entryway. He's wearing a pin-striped suit that couldn't be more out of place in the jumbled room if it was paved with rhinestones, and he's regarding Castiel with a decidedly unfavorable mien.

"You're in a great deal of trouble, Castiel."

"Zachariah, I'm sorry---"

Bobby clears his throat. It sounds like a chainsaw in the quiet of the room. The senior seraphim seems to notice him for the first time. He takes in the battered trucker hat, the plaid shirt and well-worn jeans. The old hunter draws himself up a little taller and glares at the other man.

"First of all, you do not come prancing into my house and threaten one of my guests. Second, I take it kind of personally that you've been using and abusing my friends. Third, this whole business with Lucifer is completely unacceptable." He shakes his head. "What were you boneheads smoking? Paradise on Earth? Paradise is Paradise, Hell is Hell, and Earth is the middle ground. It's occupied by humans. Not angels, not demons, humans...messy, noisy, not always that bright, but curious and creative and a lot of other things that Heaven and Hell only wish they had."

Zachariah seems flustered by the tongue-lashing. "But we can win---"

"Son, nobody ever wins a war. Meanwhile, I think you need to bring that prophet fellow here where Cas can keep an eye on him. He'll be safe enough."

"And Anna," Castiel adds, with a respectful glance at Bobby, who nods.

"I object!" Zachariah is indignant. "Anna ripped out her Grace, she deserves to be---"

Taking three steps toward him, Bobby comes to a stop an arm's length away. "You. Are not welcome here. There's the door." He gestures, more for effect, because his eyes are locked with Zachariah's and his voice a low growl. "Don't let it hit you on the ass."

"Idjit," Bobby growls as the suit and its wearer disappear. He takes a swig of the coffee, grimaces and sets the cup down on the sideboard. "Hey, Cas---what do you know about transmissions?"

"As a means of contacting someone?"

The old hunter laughs. "As a means of regulating speed in an automobile! Come on, I'll show ya."

"I don't understand," the angel admits as they walk outside.

Bobby gathers up tools from his workbench. "When life is complicated, there's nothing more satisfying than concentrating on what you can do with your own two hands, whether it's fixing a piece of furniture, building a house or making a car run like it should."

"These devices are all so...primitive. How can you find them worthy of your efforts?"

"Son, a fast car is as close to a pair of wings as a lot of people will ever get."

Knowing that Lucifer is in Vegas isn't the same as knowing where to find him. Fortunately, Sam has a police scanner in his new vehicle, so he keeps that on as he and Dean drive around. Of course, since they're in Sin City, there's a lot of mayhem to sort through: stolen cars, domestic disputes, a purse-snatching, a case of spontaneous human combustion....okay, that last one kind of stands out.

Sam calls his brother, and they converge on the hotel-casino where the fire occurred, and worm their way into the crowd gathered around the crime scene team.

"The guy looked like he was down on his luck," says a witness, indicating the still-smoking shoes melted to the sidewalk. "And he was trying to panhandle this other guy, and the other guy waved his hand, and poof, the guy was a crispy critter."

The description of the alleged perp is that he's tall, with dark-hair combed back from his face, is clean-shaven and wearing a taupe suit. The CSI's are bemused by the lack of any accelerant on or around the body, and even the witness admits that the perp never actually touched the victim. Dean and Sam eel their way back out of the crowd as the officials argue about whether it's a crime; they're leaning toward the dead man being the victim of a failed publicity stunt of some kind.

Once they get into the casino, Lucifer is easy to find---he's at a craps table, having such an unholy run of luck that there's a hush in the room and the pit bosses are visibly perspiring. There are towers of chips on either side of him, and when he smiles and says, "Let it ride" and wins the next throw, the table man keels over.

The Demon Lord chuckles, causing the crystal chandelier overhead to chime softly, and he snags a drink from the tray of a passing waitress, tipping her with a careless handful of chips. Her eyes go wide. She says something to him---probably a thank you---and he leans close and whispers something that makes her blush.

"Let's settle up, shall we?" says Lucifer to a casino employee standing nearby. It takes a big storage bin and a rolling cart to move all his chips. The Winchesters follow at a discrete distance as he and the casino lackey disappear behind the scenes.

They're lurking behind a column, staring at the door their quarry went through, and Sam bites his lip. "Now what?"

"Beats me, genius."

"Get ahold of Cas and the rest of the angels?"

"I don't think they're on speaking terms with him right now. He got Chuck to tell me where you were, and the Archangels were getting ready to dog-pile on him when he sent me there. I don't know how he made it to Bobby's, but...I think we're on our own."

"Great. Because I'm feeling seriously anemic, if you know---"

"Hello, boys!" Lucifer appears between them, smiling an unsettling smile. As he rests a hand on each of their shoulders, they're transported to the parking lot, appearing neatly between the Impala and the Mustang. "Nice to see you again. Sam, good work with that last Seal."

Up close, the vessel he's occupying is almost as tall as Sam and a few pounds heavier. His eyes are brown, his features severe, but he has a certain charisma....

"About that---we were trying to stop the Apocalypse," Sam admits. Lucifer smirks.

"An honest man. How refreshing, considering the riff-raff I usually associate with. Maybe next time you'll have better success. Huh, I haven't seen one of these in years." Dean flinches as the other man reaches out to finger his amulet. "Mesopotamian. Very popular with tourists, back in the day. I don't suppose you'd consider parting with it?"

Dean coughs. "It has sentimental value."

"No doubt. Wear it in good health, Dean. It's been a pleasure meeting you. Take care of yourselves---"

"Wait!" Dean interrupts, hoping he's not going to wind up a smoking pair of boots. "Look, about the Apocalypse---"

A man stumbles across the parking lot in their direction. He's wearing a tuxedo jacket that's too small, threadbare jeans---and he smells like he spent the night in a fish market dumpster. He zeroes in on the well-dressed Demon Lord. "Hey! Hey, mister, could you spare a few bucks?"

With a flick of his fingers, Lucifer transforms the luckless supplicant into a fly, then explodes it with a burst of juicy green flame.

"Yes, indeed," he murmurs. "Much tidier that way. The Apocalypse? Look, I don't know where you've gotten your information from, but I have no desire whatsoever to bring about Hell on Earth. I like it here! There's free food, free booze---the quality has really improved from the last time I tied one. It was with fermented Macedonian camel piss and substandard date wine...talk about a hangover!"

He shudders. "Maybe I'll cultivate a taste for single-malt Scotch. My vessel says it's good stuff. When I take my leave from you gentlemen, I'm going to go nail three cocktail waitresses, the hotel masseuse and a cute little freckled busboy." A wink. "Don't worry, he's legal."

Sam's mouth is hanging open "You're not going to take over the world?"

"Hardly. You people can muddle through on your own. Have fun, throw a little business my way, whatever. Me, I'm looking forward to a few drinks with little paper umbrellas and one of those New Age massages with the hot rocks."

"You're not going to smite us?" Sam elbows Dean in the ribs for his imprudent question.

"You're under the protection of my former employer. I might try to headhunt you, but smite you? That would be uncouth. Give the old bastard my regards, we'll have to get together for a drink one of these days. And now, I really must be going." And he's gone.

"We just dodged a bullet," Dean tells his brother as they stand there, shaking their heads. "Under God's protection? According to Zachariah, God has left the building. Now what are we going to do?"

"Tell Cas. And Bobby. See if they have any ideas."

Dean nods, and soon the two of them are racing back to South Dakota. Sam catches a break with lights on the way out of town, but Dean overtakes him when the Mustang gets written up for a busted taillight outside of Grand Junction. Sam zooms past the Impala when Dean runs afoul of a speed trap just north of Cheyenne. He stops for coffee and pie near Sturgis, and Sam pulls in for a pit stop. They eye each other with satisfaction. This is way more fun than running arguments about Dean's musical taste or Sam's travel games of Latin conjugation.

Singer Salvage is quiet in the afternoon sun. The black car and the orange cars are parked side-by-side, and the Winchesters go searching for their allies.

Castiel is helping winch an engine from an old Pontiac, and the boys are startled by his appearance. He's shed the coat and tie; he's wearing a white tee shirt and jeans instead of a suit---true to form, the tee is spotlessly white and the jeans fit to perfection.

"Is that round metal thing supposed to have a hole in it?" he asks Bobby as the boys enter the shed.

"That's a freeze plug, and no, it's not---hold it! You chucklehead, you're not supposed to go laying hands on an engine to fix it---that's cheating!"

"He can lay hands on mine," Sam interjects an attempt at humor. "I think I've got an oil leak."

"Good, you made it back. How'd it go with Lucifer?" Bobby wants to know.

"He's having a good time in Vegas, says he doesn't want to take over the world." Dean shakes his head. "Although he did turn a bum into a fly and make him explode."

"And another guy spontaneously combusted," adds Sam.

"The thing is," Dean focuses on Castiel, worried. "He said he spared us because we were under God's protection. I didn't tell him that the Big Guy Upstairs is MIA, but if he finds out, we're fubar."

"You should know---"

"A little help here?" Bobby interrupts the angel, straining against the chain holding the engine. "No, don't levitate it---haven't you listened to a thing I've said this whole time?"

Castiel apologizes profusely. Bobby bossing around one of the Heavenly Host brings a smile to Sam's face. It's one of very few things in recent weeks that hasn't added to his guilt and shame. Dean smirks as the engine is moved to one side of the shed for later disassembly. After the tension surrounding the countdown on the Seals, it's good to see normal activity going on for a change.

"Dinner's ready!" a female voice calls from the house, and Sam and Dean look in that direction, startled.

"Is that Anna?" Dean asks incredulously. "What's she doing here?"

"Making pot roast," Bobby answers, wiping his hands on a shop towel. "From her grandma's recipe. Come on, let's eat. We'll talk later."

Anna's isn't the only familiar face to greet them when they walk into the kitchen. Chuck is there, too, following her around and looking smitten.

Six people around Bobby's kitchen table may be a record, Dean thinks as he shovels in a mouthful of mashed potato and beef with oniony brown gravy. And since they aren't surrounded by Archangels, it must be okay for Chuck to be here...a thought occurs to him, and he excuses himself from the table.

"This is really good," Sam tells Anna as he maneuvers a chunk of carrot onto his fork.

"I'm glad you like it, it's been a long time since I've had a chance to do any cooking."

"See?" Bobby says to Castiel. "Working with your hands is better than magiking something up. And---you left your computer on, didn't you?" Bobby says to Chuck just as Dean bellows.

"SAM!"

Sam bolts from the table, fork in hand, at that note in his brother's voice. Dean's standing beside Chuck's laptop, which is resting on Bobby's desk. He's so pale that every freckle stands out, and he's reading what's on the screen with his mouth ajar.

"What's wrong?"

Dean points, and Sam reads over his shoulder.

'The angel Castiel was perplexed, and said to the Lord of All, "Father, I don't understand. When I first appeared before You and the Chosen Warrior, why did You allow me to assault You?"

'The Lord gave him a pitying look and said, "Son, haven't you ever heard of playing possum? I wondered what my garrisons were up to while I was on sabbatical. Don't you worry, I'll smite the idjits that deserve it, you were doing the best you knew how. Now, hand me that 5/8th socket so we can get this manifold off."'

Sam drops his fork. He stares at Dean, who looks shell-shocked. They look back at the screen, but the words haven't changed.

"Bobby?" the breaker of the Last Seal whispers.

"Dinner's getting cold," Bobby says from the doorway, and two faces with deer-in-the-headlights expressions look up at him. "Come on, Anna put a lot of work into this meal, we'll talk later."

Back at the table, Sam's not sure what happened to his fork. Anna gives him another one.

Later, the Winchesters and Bobby sit out on the back porch, watching the sun set in spectacular hues of violet and orange.

"It's not a joke...is it?" Dean wants to know.

Bobby sighs. "No, no joke. Everybody needs a break from their job some time...sixty years here is six months there, and I thought I had those yahoos trained better than that. Guess they must've gotten bored. I should've given 'em a bigger chore list." He shakes his head. "The Apocalypse---please! Lucifer's been locked up in a broom closet with a hangover for a couple millennia after a little drinking binge in Macedonia. Give him a chance to drink and wench for a while and he'll go back to tormenting the damned with new fervor. He's good at it, and it saves me the trouble."

"If you'd shot me when you had the chance...." Sam says regretfully. "I'm so sorry, Bobby. It's all my fault."

"Speak for yourself," Dean contradicts him. "I'm the one who broke the First Seal---"

"Aw, you boys...how many times do I have to tell you, you're like my sons? You think I say it just to hear myself talk? Sometimes you make me crazy, you both do, but I've bent the rules for you I don't know how many times. Because I love you both.

"When I took off to come down here, it was right after the biggest conflict this planet has ever seen..... Maybe you've heard what WC Fields used to say, 'I love humanity, it's people I can't stand'? Well, I loved humanity, but I wasn't too sure about people anymore. I was almost ready to push the reset button on the whole dang works. When you boys came along, though, you changed my mind. You---and your daddy---reminded me that even a confused, imperfect Earth-bound soul could be noble and self-sacrificing and show as much Grace as any feathered being from Above. Thank you for that."

There's quiet for a moment. The sky is midnight blue fading to black.

"That explains everything," Dean says at last. "I never could believe God was up in Heaven watching us...but I've always had faith in you."

"Good to know," says Bobby, stretching. "I have faith in you two, too."

THE END

.


End file.
